Blood
by Shinjite Florana
Summary: The kind of human wreckage that we love!


**AN**: Well, this will be my second Batman fic, again centering around the Joker and Harley. This one isn't as mellow-dramatic, though, and it has a crazy little pizzazz to it I'm sortta proud of. ^-^ Hehehe… I'm rating this T, but it has brief graphic descriptions, and a short instance of strong language.  
The idea hit me while listening to the song _Blood_ from _My Chemical Romance- The Black Parade._ A song witch I've actually included in the story. If you have a chance, try listening to it.  
THIS IS NOT A SONG FIC. I really dislike those silly things. It just has the song included, and is not in any way completely centering around the song with no plot what so ever.

**Dedication**: To my older brother, Chris. Here's to ya, Big bro!

With that said, thanks for reading!

Blood

"_Weeell theeey en-courage your complete cooperation,"  
_

Christopher Mickelson really needed to rethink his life, he concluded. He had thought this same thing many years ago when he first got this job, wheeling insane criminals around in an armored-outside and padded-on-the-inside truck. He rarely got the big bad ones, but every once in a while he'd ship one of Gotham's more insane baddies to Arkham.

"_Send you roses when they think you need to _smile_…"_

But you knew you had it bad when you were bringing the Joker in.

Especially if he was smashed, and singing along with his freak hench-girl in the back while you sat in the front trying to pin point the moment in your life when things stopped making sense.

As Chris was now.

Mickelson was more then relieved when he pulled into the…er… _drop-off_ area, for lack of a better word, at Arkham Asylum. Turning off the ignition and unbuckling himself, he grabbed his gun from between the seats before he and his partner stepped out of the van.

"_Oh, I can't control myself because I don't know _how_, -!_

_And they love me for it, honestly, I'll be here for a whiiile!"_

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he finally reached the back of the van. A swift glance at his partner told him that he wasn't much better. The Joker rarely, if _ever_, was brought in by anyone but Batman. In fact, this could be the first, for all he knew.

A pedestrian had called in and said that a bar had been broken into, and that there appeared to be bodies outside. The joker playing card was all it took to call in the squad. An army of at least 40 men had surrounded the small building as the elite of the elite poured into the actual liquor joint. They were a bit more then surprised to find the Joker sitting on the counter with that girl of his- Harley Quinn, was it? -swaying to some drunken ballet, barely noticing the barrage of police that had entered.

With virtually no struggle, the Joker and his gal had been unarmed, searched, and thrown together in the back of the Asylum van, and all to slowly shipped here, even though they sped like a bat out of hell to get to Arkham.

It was too suspicious, and everyone in Arkham was on their toes. Their back-up soon arrived; more then half the guard, all armed, the whole medical squad, a couple psychologists, and even a few brave reporters and there teams waited in the wings behind them, finally making them ready to begin the task of unloading the Joker.

With a deep breath and a brief prayer, he and his partner opened the doors to the drunken…_couple_.

"_So give them blood! Blood! _Gallons_ of the stuff!  
Give them all that they can drink and it will __never__ be enough-!"_

The two were sitting on the floor like two drinking buddies after a night out. Both were cuffed, obviously, but not with both their hands together, like it is traditionally done. Each of the Joker's hands were bound accordingly to the hands of Harley Quinn, their hands pared up. Whether or not they were restrained in this manner when they were first loaded in, he couldn't say, but no one else seem to notice. He let it drop.

The Joker's expression hadn't changed much from that of his normal one, his face paint was a bit more smudged then usual, maybe. He had his arm around Harley's shoulder, the said clown gal a bit of a different story. Even through her thick white mask, rosy red cheeks were visible, definite signs of the alcohol, her eyes slitted and a more-goofy-then-usual grin plastered across her face.

The two belted the odd lyrics in an off-key harmony. He could possibly even admit that if either were by themselves they might not be half-bad, even drunk as they were; but the two even _attempting_ a harmonization between each other changed their voices into a cacophony of unwanted sound.

The two were both pulled out by burly guards. The two refused to separate, forcing one guard to grasp the upper arm of the Joker in an attempt to keep him standing while the other grasped Quinn. The two leaned on each other confirming from any doubt that the two were utterly smashed. They were roughly half-dragged into the Asylum, still belting out their meaningless anthem.

_"So give them blood, blood,_ bluuu-uuud_-!  
Grab a glass because there's going to be a flood."_

All of the Arkham staff seemed to heave a giant sigh of relief as the danger appeared to subside as the two gave the impression of being pretty harmless in their current sate. A few of the reporter camera crews were even smiling or chuckling at them. Other hardened guards or long timed psychologists scowled at the unwanted not-so-new attendees, far wiser to psychopaths like the Joker.

Chris followed the crowd of people dispersing back into the Asylum, some going back to their posts or jobs while others, more amused onlookers, trailed the guards to the high security part of Arkham, smiling at the bizarre duo, finding it hard to believe that this was the Joker and his girl, the most notorious mass murderer of Gotham.

With a harsh shove after having entered the, to them by now, familiar halls of the Asylum, the guards released the two with a push, making them stumble forward before the Joker lethally stood with a stability that just a few moments ago seemed unachievable by him. Harley steadied herself with a hand against his chest, obviously unable to accomplish the same feat. With his trademark grin, Joker took Harley's hands in each of his and began to spin in a shuffling waltz, all the while still singing, this time alternating lines from one to the other. Quinn started in a slurred shrill voice.

_"A celebrated man amongst the gurneys."_

Followed soon after by the Jokers unique high-pitched wails.

_"They can fix me proper with a bit of luck!"_

The two harmonized again, or at least attempted to, as they twirled across the tiled floor, by this time having gained the attention of the other high-alert cellmates in the center of Arkham. The crowd had begun to hum with soft laughter at this point, all with the airs of seriousness or concern gone.

_"Theee doctors and the nurses they adore me so,"_

The Joker spun Harley out, lining them out like the finalé of a big musical.

"_But it's really quite alarming, cause I'm such an awful fuuuck!"  
_"Oh, thank you!" proclaimed the Joker on a side.

The crowd roared with laughter. Chris wondered if he was the only one to notice, the first one to start to panic as he realized that a move like that could not be achieved on their part unless a pair of the hand cuffs had broken. Others soon realized this same fact, though, and with another metallic clang, the other cuffs hidden behind their backs clattered to the ground, and oddly enough, neither looked drunk anymore.

A full-fledged murmur now ran through the crowd. The Joker and Harley both gave menacing smiles before their hidden hands came into view, both holding guns. A few shrieks ran through the group now. Panic and shock finally settled in. How did they-? Gasps brought gazes to the two wide-eyed guards that had dragged the maniacs in, their hands fruitlessly reaching for their guns that were no longer there.

"To easy!" Stated the pleased voice of Harley. Both criminals cocked their guns.

People began running in all different directions at once. A few lingering guards tried to draw their weapons, but were to slow as the Joker mowed them all down. He laughed as the men fell to the ground, blood pooling around their blown-out skulls. A cheery looking Harley Quinn somersaulted over a bit before gracefully taking out all those attempting to run away, losing a bit of the ambiance by stumbling just a few times, still not 100% on her feet. Although a much slower shot then her partner, her victims fell to the ground, shouts of agony ricocheting through Chris's head, bouncing off the walls in his brain until it feels like the Joker is _inside_ of his head, driving his insanity into him with a metal sledge while Harley slams it in with her mallet.

A noise whizzes past Mickelson's ear, sending a shot of pain through his whole body. Shouting in agony, he falls to the ground. The sudden, shocking pain fogs his brain, but he knows enough not to move. Feign death. Don't move. Don't let them know, or they'll finish you. With blurred eyes he watches as the Joker darts into a side room while Quinn takes care of the less threatening witnesses with a few swift kicks and shots of her gun.

The girl prances around while cleaning up her work, back to singing the same song they had been when first coming in, her shots and kicks in time to the music, like some sick, maniacal dance to the music.

"_I gave you gave you blood, blood, _gallons_ of the stuff,  
I gave you all that you can drink and it has _never_ been enough,"_

The Joker soon re-reveals himself, sliding out of the door as Harley scampers between the body's checking for life and shooting on discovery, still stridently chanting the lyrics of the now haunting tune. She was only a few body's from him now.

Three…

Two…

"_I gave you blood, blood, blooo_ooo_oooOOOHD!!!"_

One...

"Harley." The Joker's voice seems to shatter glass as his sidekick stops her trek toward him and dances over to him.

"Did'ja find em', pudden?" she asks in a too sweet singsong voice.

The Joker shuffles a deck between his hands, the sound of the cards echoing against the to quiet halls, death and silence seeming to seep into the walls, feeding the Asylum's need of insanity, of discord and chaos, wailing as it's children of madness fill it's halls with dead. "Yep. Next time you'd better remember to stop for our supplies after we break out, Harley." A threatening underlying tone colored his voice as he smiled down at her with the most disturbing grin any human being could wear.

"Y-yes sir, Mistah J!" Harley quickly plastered on a smile and jokingly saluted him to cover her slight shiver. He smiled and patted her on the head before stepping over and passed the bodies on his way back out, Harley following close behind. The _click, clack, click, clack_, of his shined black shoes send shivers down Mickelson's spine as he passed by.

The sound stopped.

Chris immediately stopped shaking, to frightened to turn his head, only able to lay silent and wait, trying not to breath, and listening for all he was worth.

Moments passed of total stillness.

…

"Harley, may I? I seem to have miss-placed mine."

A dull noise as an object changed hands.

_Click_

Oh God

**Bang**

_"I'm theee kind of human wreckage that you love!"_

Fin


End file.
